Little red cup
by Terfle
Summary: Serena in her grief stricken drinking phase


Adrienne had always hated the colour red. Sometimes she claimed that Serena wore it to spite her but her daughter could think of better ways to spite her. Like foolishly marrying Edward Campbell, that complete and utter dickhead who had given her mother licence to berate her relentlessly. Adrienne had never let her forget it, the biggest mistake of her life. Could have saved herself a divorce and brought up their daughter on her own for all the good he had been, he could have left them much easier if they hadn't been married.

She ran her fingers at the back of her neck, a habit she did when she was anxious or nervous. The jagged scar running from the nape of her neck across the back of her shoulder had once felt conspicuous and she'd used to touch it anxiously, waiting for someone to notice it and ask her about it, then she would struggle to answer but no-one ever did.

She had been so angry that day, Serena couldn't even remember why. She had hurled the precious china plates that her own mother had so carefully wrapped in yellowingcontrol newspaper. Serena had a bowl left from that set, sitting proudly on display in the kitchen never to be used for its purpose. She put flowers in there and left them to stew in bloom soup sometimes.

The set had almost been decimated when Adrienne had advanced, fury in her eyes, with a piece of broken plate. Serena had batted her off, protesting about whatever it had been when her mother struck, right into that exposed area and sent the pain stabbing through her skin, right into her heart. She couldn't tell the truth when the ambulance arrived and her mother was no longer screaming and shouting about how she'd made her do it. She'd switched again and nothing Serena could say would convince anyone otherwise. She'd learned her lesson the first time.

She'd stolen out of the back door and into the arms of that unsuitable Scot with the curly hair. They'd been drinking but she had been on a high that night, so much so that when she'd struggled against him, her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest and her screams shattered her eardrums. She hadn't been as pliant as they'd both hoped, despite the beer, she couldn't relax. She'd done it before but not like this, her panicking to get out of his grip while he murmured for her to relax, tightened the net and got halfway in until she scratched his face. He'd painfully withdrawn and seemed genuinely stricken that he hadn't realised that she hadn't been joking. She could barely scream at him anymore, raw with terror, she grabbed her things after a few words and ran back home. She found a grim mother and the whip of the belt waiting for her. From that point on, she'd deserved it all.

Serena reached for the bottle and poured another. She felt like she was drinking her own blood, the colour of the wine could have soaked the towel after she had cried in the bath, no-one to believe her and no-one to take care of her wounds that night.

Her and wine went back a long way; not being able to stand beer anymore, she routinely got drunk with Edward, it was easier that way. She could relax and not think about the boy with the curly hair as Edward grunted between her thighs, deriving some pleasure from the fact that it was her husband and she was safe to enjoy it. And she did enjoy it, knowing how it was meant to be. It was most definitely the way Elinor was conceived and she didn't care but the security didn't last long. Six months down the line and he was already starting his reign of philandering. It all went downhill from there and she'd stopped drinking to match him, the arguments got worse because she was now sober and one day she'd hit him.

She had been horrified. He clutched his jaw and looked at her, dazed and shocked that she had the strength and inclination to deck him. For once, she was the one who'd begged for forgiveness and he'd given it, too stunned not to. Her biggest fear had been turning into her mother and after that, her guilt had kept her in check, having no-one to confide in. She'd started drinking again years after, cautiously trusting herself that she'd never do it again and she hadn't. Edward hadn't forgotten it but he later played it off in humour, never knowing that his disapproving mother-in-law was the reason behind it. He couldn't understand why his wife had changed and become so strict and sober with him when only a few years ago they'd been willingly wild together. Her disdain for him spiralled as quickly as his personal issues did and their separation was less than amicable, much to the confusion of their daughter who was spoiled to make up for it. Another mistake as Serena would find out.

Another glass, another window into the past. This was why she should never drink alone. She could block it all out at the bar with other people to focus on and they'd never know what went through her head.

Her mind spooled through memories, once with Edward she had almost been reminded of that night. She was going to be late, he didn't want to get out of bed and once he'd overpowered her protestations with his body, she'd eventually stopped struggling, mute and feeling helpless as he carried on, safe in the knowledge that he'd got her for a few more minutes. She hated how he crushed her by wrapping his arms around her to try and calm her down, it made her more furious. He couldn't understand why she had barely spoken to him or looked at him that morning. She felt like crying. She couldn't explain and he'd put it down to her temperament, something to be joked about around the table. Sometimes she was shocked by her violent thoughts towards them, wanting to smash the bastard's head in with a hammer and poison the old bat's evening cocoa. Sometimes she could just strangle that insolent young pup she'd produced. The one she'd spent keeping ignorant of what her grandmother could do.

Flirting mercilessly took back control. She could charm her way out of a lot and it pleased her how powerful she felt doing it.

Sometimes she just drank to block out their voices in her head, making her feel how worthless she was. The constant struggle in her mind left her confused and angry that maybe she had led that boy, her mother, her ex-husband to do what they did and she'd deserved every bit of it. Her spoilt daughter, perhaps. Her dead daughter. She'd left her fear of getting out of control behind when Elinor had died and she drank to replay those tainted memories of all of those years. All those birthday parties and childish tears, those teenage rage and heartache, that dazzling smile her daughter had. She'd never see them again. They were hovering above her like a black cloud and she'd drink them away or drink for them to stay. Either way, that Shiraz wasn't going to drink itself.


End file.
